Not As Simple As Goodbye
by Lornesgoldenhair
Summary: Whouffaldi 12/Clara. Set after the end of Season 8 and both the Doctor and Clara are having upsetting dreams. Could the universe be trying to reconnect them? Angst and a touch of emotional!Doctor with my usual dash of M for sexual scenes.


**Not As Simple As Goodbye.**

**As they begin their separate lives both Clara and the Doctor are haunted by their dreams. Has the universe got other ideas for their future? Whouffaldi. M because my stories have a habit of going there.**

The strangely familiar co-ordinates punched across the screen sent shivers into her heart as she watched them materialise and she knew at once that she was dreaming of him standing at the console. She understood his nervousness and the flutter of hope in his chest. It always felt this way when she dreamed, as though she were connected to him, inside, as though they had never really parted. But then they never really had, his timeline and hers, always one. A bittersweet string that tied them, that forced her weeks and months after he left to catch these snatches of his memories. But this would be a good memory, she knew, because he was going home.

In her sleep, she smiled.

In that screen she could see the reflection of his face looking back at her but she could not read the details in the dark glass, the blue grey of his eyes taken by it, replaced only with shadow. But she didn't need to see when she could feel it in her own face, the tightness of the muscles as the last digit was programmed and he hesitated, hand above the lever which would send the TARDIS spinning across space.

She knew where he was going and she knew that he was afraid. The weight of that fear settled on her now as she watched the lights flash around him and heard the machine whine and purr. He had been away so long, he had sought this so long. What would he find when he got there, would he find anything at all?

But she knew he would because he had told her so. This was the _before_ memory. This was him travelling to find out. She knew it worked out in the end because he had said so. He had found Gallifrey.

The engines came to a halt and he hesitated before quickly crossing to the doors. It was out there, his planet, he just had to picture it, he just had to believe. And in the memory she ached for the lost boy inside him who closed his eyes briefly and made a wish.

_Please let it be there, please let me be home._

And she felt his hands shake as he reached for the doors

Another breath and he pulled them open.

Nothing.

_Nothing._

She cried out in her sleep even as his eyes ranged across the stars, seeking, trying to understand. It wasn't there. _But it must be. It must be hiding somehow, it must be an illusion._ Those were the co-ordinates and he'd believed, he'd believed _her_, the Master.

He shut the door again.

He'd believed her. And the pain began to bubble from the centre of his chest and he felt it coming and despised himself for it. He felt the rage starting to churn inside and the edges of his vision blur. He looked down at his hands and saw their light tremble of anxiety change into a tremor of anger and she saw it too through his eyes and felt the heat of his fury burn against her. It was raw and painful and she wanted to scream, to move away from him but she was tied now to this emotion as it built and built. She felt him tussle with it, fighting, trying to hold back the inevitable tide but he was losing and the more he lost the more he hated, until with a sudden shout he was lashing against the console, sparks flying with the crackle of electrics, controls breaking and shattering under the onslaught of his fists. She could hear herself calling to him to stop, but his wrath had won now and he pounded the console again and all the while she could feel the jarring of its mechanics against his hands, the shooting pains up his arms from the impact, the way his breathing came broken and ragged until finally he slumped and she felt him tip forward, go to his knees, his hands gripping the edge of the broken controls, his head heavy against them.

He rested there for a moment and the painful fury which burned her subsided, its sensation altering now and growing dim. She waited unsure of what would come next, reeling still from the revelation of nothing. In her chest her single heart thudded with his doubled rhythm.

She wasn't sure if she heard or felt it first as she drifted from his inside to his out. From past experience she knew that there was a fine line between the senses in this world. But she knew what it was immediately and when she did the pain hit her hard.

He was sobbing.

She circled until she was looking down over him and felt herself lower to his level on the ground as he let go entirely of the console and slumping turned his back to it. He covered his face.

It was the type of sobbing she had heard only once or twice in her lifetime. The kind that wracked a person entirely, the kind that signalled there was nothing left. It wasn't just the sound of crying but of something deeper shattering, of hope gone, of no reasons left. It wasn't just the hitching breath of tearfulness but desperate cries that turned to pleas as they left his lips. The absolute pain tearing through her she instinctively reached for him, longing to offer him comfort, longing for him not to be alone in the ship that now drifted aimlessly again through time and space.

Clara woke with the tears fresh on her cheeks and a shake in her breath.

Gallifrey was gone. The Doctor was gone. He had lied to her, and he was alone.

XXXXXXXX

He was running through the fields of his childhood under a golden orange sky and he recognised the scented air to be that of harvest in Gallifrey. Ahead of him his friend was tripping and laughing their way through the crops, calling him by his Real Name to catch them, to run, run faster…

_Run You Clever Boy_

Because he was a boy again. He felt the lightness of his limbs and the easy way his body moved. He felt the suns heat on his skin and saw the glow of it, rich amber on his hands and arms. He felt his own laughter flow freely from his lips. His friend chiding him, telling him his prize was just around the corner, run faster or you'll be too late, the pretty jewel will fade.

_Run You Clever Boy…_

And he picked up his speed at the command refusing to be beaten again in their race, gaining now on the figure, gaining and reaching with one hand to grasp their shirt and turn them, wrestle them until they fell to earth amongst the tall corn.

'Where is it?' he asked his childhood friend.

'Where's what?'

'Home. I believed you, you told me it was there and I believed you. But it's not there is it? Where is it?' And the Doctor looked down at the figure beneath him and gripped the shirt tighter at their neck. 'Tell me!' he ordered, 'Tell me where it is!'

And the figure's eyes turned from blue to brown.

_Remember Me._

'It's here,' Clara said.

He woke to the sound of her name on his lips.

His hearts were thundering. He was in the chair on the balcony of the TARDIS room console and around him his ship hummed softly as she drifted. The lights were low, his sentient craft dimming them to aid his rest. Slowly the Doctor sat forward, elbows on his knees and passed his hands over his face feeling the scratch of his unshaven cheeks. Finally his forehead in his hands he sat there motionless for minutes running images through his mind.

He would never be free of her. Memories of her, memories of her echoes. And now she took the lead in other memories too. Every face he saw in dreams transformed into her, every voice he heard sounded like hers. He was glad he hadn't landed the TARDIS anywhere for months or he would have been sure to spot her in streets, in forests. Clara, Clara, Clara. Everywhere Clara.

Maybe if he just erased her altogether. Adjusted a setting on the sonic and wipe bits of his memory. Highly dangerous, likely to go wrong and delete whole chunks of his lifetimes but he was nevertheless considering it an option. He pulled the sonic out of his pocket and studied it thoughtfully.

'What do you think old girl,' he addressed the ship, 'Just a quick whirr and she'd be gone.' The TARDIS lights racked up a notch and then dimmed again. He could have sworn she was disapproving, but then it was easier for her, she'd never liked Clara to begin with. But he was also aware that the ship existed for him, that whatever he needed she provided and that she would do her best to protect from whatever danger there was, including himself. 'It's OK,' he reassured her, 'I won't, knowing how I'm feeling at the moment I'd hit the wrong setting and end up frying my nervous system.'

He slumped back in the chair, tossing the sonic to one side and covering his face with one hand again.

'When is this going to get better?' he asked. '_How_ will it get better?' The TARDIS hummed sadly around him. 'Maybe it won't, maybe this is it. Clara gets her happy ending with PE and I get…' he lowered the hand and looked down towards the console. 'What do I get exactly? The knowledge I did the honourable thing for the woman I…' he stopped himself but the feeling was already sitting in his chest, watching, knowing. It had been there since the day he had left earth and he knew it was the reason she haunted his dreams and all his waking thoughts. He just thought maybe the worst of it would have passed by now, that the constant ache would be a little duller.

'What do I do to make this better?' he asked the ship. He felt the shudder of her engines under him and the lights rose a little again. 'No I don't want to go anywhere,' he argued. The TARDIS replied only by programming co-ordinates onto her navigation system and bleeping insistently. Even from where he sat he could see which co-ordinates they were. 'Especially not there.'

Bleep. The TARDIS entered her automatic launch code and the Doctor got up rapidly from his seat.

'I said no,' he ordered her and trotted down the stairs to the manual override. 'We are not going back.'

His hand touched the lever. And paused. The TARDIS phone was ringing.

XXXXXXX

Clara's hands shook as she filled the teapot and she took a moment to steady them against the counter before trying again. Somewhere in her mind she could still hear him crying and more so than any tears she had heard it disturbed her because they were his, and because he didn't cry.

It was 4am but try as she might there was no rest for her now. Her head was spinning. She had experienced enough of these dreams to know when there was truth in them and this had been one of them. She tried to be angry, to convert the hurt she felt into something strong and positive but she only felt pain. Pain that he had lied to her so blatantly, but if she were honest with herself pain for him and his loss.

It wasn't just Gallifrey and everything on the planet. It wasn't just his home and family. Though consumed by her own grief for Danny at the time she had nonetheless seen the way the Doctor had responded when the time had come to end the Master. There was no simple black and white. The demise of Missy had not only ended their rivalry but severed a final link to his past and to his people. They were the last of their kind. The Doctor had believed himself to be alone until confronted with her again and now, now that Missy was gone, there was just him. It had served only to reiterate his isolation.

So no Gallifrey, no Missy. And no Clara, no companion. She wondered how much her absence added to the situation. Maybe she flattered herself too much. She kept forgetting who he was, an ancient time lord, busy saving worlds, busy being a hero despite what he said. He was her friend but that was never his sole purpose. He'd lost companions before, he'd got over it.

Clara picked up the teaspoon and swirled the contents of the pot, finally able to control her shaking hands a little. But on the other hand… on the other hand there was a side to him that needed her, she'd come to see that in their last months together. He was her friend, which made her his, and although he knew a great many people scattered across time and worlds, his friends were few and far between. She had shared things with him that no-one else ever had. She was a part of him. So why then when he had lost all that he had, had he had upped and left instead of turning to her?

She knew why. Typical Doctor. Stubborn, infuriating Doctor. She dropped the spoon into the sink and put the lid on the teapot. _I don't need anyone I'm the Doctor._

But it wasn't so straightforward was it? Clara's sadness grew. He had thought she had Danny. He had thought she was happy, that she didn't need her 'old man in a box.' He thought he wasn't required.

Clara let out an exasperated sigh and sat back at the kitchen table, pouring her tea and warming her hands around her mug. Somewhere out there he was floating about in that silly blue box by himself while she…. sat in her empty flat in the middle of the night, _by herself_. It was pointless the pair of them enduring misery for no good reason. She was Danny-less, he was without Gallifrey, they should just make contact again. She knew him well enough to know that under his nonchalant exterior he was vulnerable, that he needed her, she knew the lost boy inside, but she also knew he'd never make the first move.

She reached into her dressing gown pocket and took out her phone, flipping it open and finding his entry. His call log showed the number of times they had phoned one another at strange times of the day and night when adventures were simple and painless and there were sights to be seen on faraway planets. She knew too that she had kept his voicemails. If anyone ever heard their bizarre contents they wouldn't know what to make of the madman on the end or the fact that half way through their relationship he developed a Glaswegian accent. She smiled sadly, pressing dial. _Please let me hear that voice again._

The TARDIS phone rang out as she sipped her tea. Once, twice. She pictured him by the console, trying to think of him as he had been in life rather than as he was in her dream. Three times, four. She got up and paced the kitchen, he never did answer quickly but she was scared, scared he wouldn't answer at all. Five times six. Clara stopped by the sink and leaned there a moment worrying at her bottom lip, a sick feeling coming over her. Seven times, eight, nine. He would know it was her, so few others had the number, and now it looked as though his stubbornness would win out.

And then she looked out the window, down onto the grass in front of her flat.

He was standing outside the TARDIS, looking up at her.

XXXXXXXXX

The phone was still ringing from behind him as he looked up towards her kitchen window. She'd seen him, but she hadn't hung up. Was that a good sign? She wasn't moving. Maybe he should do this in stages. The Doctor reached back and lifted the receiver.

'Clara,' he said softly. The figure at the window turned away slightly and then he realised she was answering or trying to.

'Hi,' she eventually said.

'Couldn't sleep?'

'Bad dream.'

'Been getting a few of those?'

'Yes.'

'Me too,' he paused. He heard her breath on the line hesitant.

'Come up?' she said.

'I don't want to disturb you.'

'You won't,' she said kindly.

'Then I don't want to disturb Danny.'

'You won't,' her voice softened further. 'Just come up… I made tea.' He felt his smile tug at his lips, he'd forgotten what that felt like. 'Please,' she added, 'Why did you come if you didn't want to disturb me anyway?' he could hear her smile in her voice, 'That's what you do in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping. Disturb me and drag me on adventures.'

He gave the smallest of laughs, 'I know… but this time I…'

'This time what?'

He cursed himself but the words were out before he could stop them, 'No adventure…. I just wanted to see you.' And he felt something tremble dangerously in his voice. He looked away from her window uncomfortably. Clara paused.

'Come up,' she said again.

XXXXXXXX

When to open the door seemed like a huge decision. Clara buzzed him up but then hovered by her front door; wait for him to knock or have it ready? She unhooked the latch, pulled her robe tighter around her and stood listening. He'd come back, the Doctor had come back. She had so much to say, where did she start? Why hadn't he knocked yet? Maybe he was standing outside worrying about when the door would open just like she was. No he wouldn't, he's the Doctor he doesn't worry about doors.

'Oh this is ridiculous!' she barked at herself and flung the door open. He had just reached the top of the stairs and he hesitated having heard her, about to take the last step, hand on the bannister.

Clara felt herself sway slightly under his gaze. It was bright in the hall even at this hour, the florescent lights left to blaze all night, and the harsh light cascaded over his features callously. She noticed the stark lines of his body, the neat way his jacket fitted and got the impossible sense that somehow he had lost more weight. The hollows of his cheeks sat darkly beneath his eyes and a five o'clock shadow dusted his face. For a brief moment he looked as though he was about to say something, his lips parted with the slightest sheen of moisture from within, but then his eyes darted away and his mouth closed firmly as he pulled himself up the final step to meet her. She'd forgotten his height, the way he stood a good foot above her, the way if he wished to his arms would enfold her completely and she would vanish cocooned against him, small and secure. She wished he would do that now, as he had when they had said goodbye, but instead he stood before her glancing down at his hands, spinning the signet ring he wore between worried fingertips.

Clara managed a smile through the sick anxiety she felt in her chest and stood back from the door.

'Well come on then,' she said, 'Don't stand out there all night I'll get a reputation with the neighbours.'

His lips quirked and he glanced up at her from under his brow before easing past her. Clara fastened the door again, securing him inside the warm flat and watched as the more flattering light smudged the shadows on his face.

'Tea's in the kitchen,' she said catching herself sounding painfully cheery.

The Doctor glanced behind him in the direction of her room, 'Shouldn't we… keep the noise down,' he said softly, 'I don't want to be responsible for PE being like a bear with a sore head in class tomorrow. Think of the children…'

Clara stopped outside the kitchen door, so that subject had come round faster than she expected, 'It's OK Doctor, he's not here,'

'Oh,' he replied at normal volume and then frowned slightly, 'Oh? Everything is alright between you two isn't it?'

Clara looked at the floor, 'Doctor…'

He looked genuinely puzzled and for a brief second chewed at his lip. 'You seemed so sure it would work out.'

'Doctor… Danny… he…'

'Did he finish it?' he asked slightly aghast, 'why would he finish it, it doesn't make sense…'

'Doctor he's dead.'

He looked astounded. 'Again?' was his reflexive response. She almost laughed it was so ridiculous.

'No, not again, just the once. Doctor he didn't come back. He used the bracelet to send someone else over, someone he felt he owed it to. He… he was a hero…'

The Doctor looked at her for a moment, emotions running through his face. He took a step forward but hesitated, conflicted in his desire to act.

'He was an idiot,' he said at last.

'No, he did a brave thing,' Clara tried to defend him.

'He had the chance to come back to you and spend his life with the woman he professed to love. And he didn't. He left you alone.' The Doctor looked at her sadly, 'He was an idiot.'

Clara didn't argue this time, she had thought it herself often enough while all the while trying to justify Danny's honourable higher intentions. A selfless act maybe but one that had left her bereft and sometimes it was very hard indeed to see past that. He'd been a good man, he'd done a wonderful thing, but the Doctor was right, she was alone.

Except now she wasn't and something unusual was happening.

'I was an idiot too,' he said.

The Doctor took another step in her direction and very slightly lifted his arms but it was enough of a cue for her and she wrapped hers around his middle, pressing against his chest. The relief of the contact washed through her and she felt her eyes burn with tears.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

'What for?'

'Where do I begin on that one?'

'I'm sorry too.' She felt him bow his head and very subtly nose at her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and of her. It was a simple gentle act of affection she realised, hard for him to do or admit to yet there he was, not back five minutes and wrapping his arms round her. She thought of her dream and wondered how badly his hearts were aching to make him act this way.

'I know about Gallifrey,' she said quietly and felt him stiffen slightly.

'What about it?'

'It wasn't there.'

'How..?'

'Dreams,' was all she said.

'Ah,' his body relaxed again against her as he digested this, 'Then that's something else I need to apologise for, not telling you myself. I didn't want you to feel… that you had to stay with me I suppose.'

Clara rubbed her cheek against his chest where she could feel his heartbeats. 'I didn't want you to feel that either, that's why I didn't correct you when you thought Danny was back.' She could feel the weight of his chin resting on top of her head now and the subtle tightening of his arms around her.

'Then we're as bad as each other,' he said, 'Should we be angry?'

'I thought I might be,' she admitted, 'But now you're here.'

'Perfect opportunity to be angry with me in person,' he proposed.

Clara leaned back and looked at him, 'You've been angry enough with yourself I think,' his eyes queried her, 'I saw you smashing up the console… in the dream I mean.'

'Ah, not my finest moment,' he admitted and then alarm began to spread across his features, 'How much did you see?'

'The important bits I think.' Clara reached up and ran her thumb across his cheek, cupping his face. He looked crestfallen. 'Why didn't you just come back?' she asked, 'You could have just come back. '

He pressed his lips together in resolute silence and she dropped her hand.

'Oh forget I asked that, I know why. Because you thought Danny was here, because you thought you weren't wanted, because of your pride, lots of reasons good and bad. But I'm your friend Doctor, I care, why won't you let yourself be cared for?'

She was going to continue but saw something change in his expression and was suddenly reminded of the pain he had expressed in her dream. Somewhere just below the surface he struggled to keep control of errant emotions that threatened to betray him. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him hard into her embrace, kissing his cheek fiercely. 'You're here now, that's all that matters,' and she pushed one hand through his thick hair and held him tight against her. The Doctor's arms dropped from their high safe position on her back, to low on her hips and he buried his face against her hair. For a moment it felt to Clara like he couldn't get close enough to her.

'I've missed you,' he admitted in little more than the faintest whisper. Clara clung on to him, still touching his hair, gripping his body, pressing ardent little kisses to his cheek and neck. She closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of him, pushing her nose against his pulse point and wriggling to be closer. How had she ever managed to be away from him, how had she coped all these months without this man? She never wanted to let go again, no matter what he said or did now she would never let him go, this feeling was too overwhelming, it was need on a new level it was…. A feeling she knew… a feeling she had to name…

'Clara,' the timbre in his voice had deepened and his breath was suddenly very hot against her face. One hand slid to her lower back and pushed her tighter against him. She gasped a little feeling him hardening on her belly but she didn't pull back. The Doctor made a small noise of need and again buried his face in her neck, unable to look directly at her face.

'It's OK,' she said, holding him, moving her hips slightly, testing. He made another small noise.

'No, it isn't OK,' he replied, irritated she guessed more with himself than with her. 'What's the matter with me, Clara? I swore I wouldn't do this, I swore I'd let you get on with your life. I waited, I promise you I waited, for months just hoping this whole thing would pass and I'd get control of it, but it just won't get any easier, it's all I can think of, _you're_ all I can think of and then one little dream and I'm running back weak, needy, swearing that I just want to see your face again but it's not enough…'

'You had a dream too?' she looked up at him.

He looked uncomfortable in her arms and she noticed the slightest blush across his cheeks. This had to be so difficult for him emotionally and physically.

'Yes,' he said, 'More than one if I'm honest. You keep appearing. It doesn't seem to matter what it is I'm dreaming about you pop up, good or bad.'

Clara smiled at the image, 'I thought you didn't sleep…'

'Much… I don't sleep _much_. I've been sleeping more lately.'

Clara looked concerned, the hollow cheeks and evidence of weight loss and now he was sleeping, 'Why? Are you ill?'

'No… I just…. Well some of the dreams are pleasant I suppose. It's an escape.'

She nodded understanding that need to hide from reality. 'And some aren't.'

His jaw tensed. 'No. In the last one you were the Master… or the Master was you. I'd chased him down and suddenly it's you staring back at me.'

'Did I say anything?'

He looked at her curiously, 'Why?'

Clara shrugged, 'Just wondered, I hear what you say in my echo-dreams, sometimes it's significant.'

'I was trying to get you to confess to where Gallifrey was.'

'Did I know?'

'You said it was here,'

'Gallifrey?' Clara said incredulously, 'Well unless it fell behind the fridge that's hardly likely.'

'Not Gallifrey, Clara….' And she could have sworn he squirmed in her arms a little as he looked away, 'Home, you said home was here.' His voice was little more than a whisper but he had never spoken clearer to her. Clara looked at him and felt a tiny stab at her heart. Gently she stroked her hand through his hair again and let her fingertips trace his cheek.

'Do you want it to be?' she asked. Clara tilted her head to look at him steadily while he continued to avoid her eyes. He looked down taking shallow controlled breaths, bit his lip, anything rather than face her. 'Doctor?' It was then she realised that her fingertips were wet with his tears.

'It's not about what I want anymore,' he breathed harshly, 'It's about what _is_. I can't control it.'

'You can't _decide _where home is, you mean,' Clara said softly, 'Home tells you where it wants to be.' He nodded once in reply, eyes shut and she pulled him down towards her. He resisted for just a moment before she found herself cradling him in her arms, stroking his back. 'Well then, welcome home, Doctor.'

His body started to shake at the words but she simply held him content to let him ride out the emotions that needed so badly to be freed. She murmured comfort in his ear and rocked her body gently back and forth against his to a heartbeat of a rhythm. He tried so hard at first to hold it back that she wondered if the torrent would ever flow but then she trailed some of her soft kisses across the salt of his cheek to the corner of his mouth and heard the sob against her lips. She kissed him fully then, tasting tears and when she pulled away listened to the broken sound of his breath. She wondered briefly how long these feelings had been hidden, how long someone could deny themselves and how much damage it would cause. She wondered how long he had been floating in space before he decided to come back to her. For her it had been months, for him, for a man as proud and stubborn as him, it could have been years.

Minutes passed and his breathing became easier though he still clung to her tightly. Gently Clara drew back and ran her hands down both his arms, linking fingers with him and tugging lightly.

'Come on,' she said and headed in the opposite direction to the kitchen, to the dark doorway at the back of the flat that led to her bedroom. She could feel the panic emanating off his skin as she pulled him through the door and made him sit on the edge of her bed. She went to the other side, removed her robe and dressed in her light pyjamas slipped under the covers.

'Take off the jacket,' she told him, 'get down to your shirt and trousers and then come here and lie down. You look like you're ready to fall over.' He hesitated, his face obscured by darkness but his silhouette just in view against the light from the hall. She saw him slip the jacket from his shoulders and toss it over the end of the bed before raising his hands to the buttons of his waistcoat. When they hovered there a little too long Clara sat up and reached out to unfasten him aware all the time of the rate of his breathing and the thud of his hearts under her fingertips. She pushed back the waistcoat and it joined his jacket before she laid hands on him and encouraged him over to join her. Clara tucked the covers over him and lay down on her side so that they mirrored one another on her bed. She touched his face, 'OK?' she asked. She felt him nod. 'I've never known you so quiet,' she laughed.

'Sorry,' he sounded so unsure of himself it was almost painful. Clara scooted over closer so that the lower half of her body was against him and wound her arm around his waist. She slowly leaned towards him and when she could at last feel the warmth of him on her face let her lips find his again.

The kiss was languid, slow and undemanding at first and she allowed him to set the pace, testing himself against her lips as one hand moved softly over the side of her body. Clara let herself stroke across the fabric of his shirt and down the length of his arm as he held her, encouraging him with the gentle push of her body against him. She sucked tenderly on his lower lip and he hesitantly slipped his tongue forward, releasing a gasp as he did so. His grip on her tightened as the rhythm of their mouths picked up and she felt him tilt his hips so that he pressed harder into her with the weight of his pelvis. She rolled with the motion so that now he was almost directly on top of her and shifted her legs so that he ground against her. The Doctor released her mouth and fell to her neck, peppering her with warm kisses while one hand moved slightly under her top.

Clara wriggled to encourage him and his fingers brushed the underside of her breast. She reached down for the hem of the pyjama top and he took her cue lifting it over her head before settling again against her skin. The soft noise of need she had heard him make before came again as his mouth left hot trails between her nipples and she felt a sudden wet heat between her legs at his touch. With her own hands she found the buttons of his shirt and pulled him up so that she could reach to undo them. With him leaning down over her and her hands on his chest she had a sudden sense of how right it felt to be with him this way, a sense heightened by the darkness of the room and the intensity of her remaining senses. She wondered why she had ever doubted he was the Doctor_, her_ Doctor after his regeneration. If she had just chosen to look beyond the superficial she would have felt it all along, the connection that never left them.

She pushed the fabric from his shoulders desperate for the feel of his skin against her and ran her fingers down to his belly. The Doctor sucked in a short breath as she made contact and tried to pull away. Clara slipped an arm around his back and dragged him towards her, her other hand returning to the slight softness at his waist that he seemed so self conscious of. After a moments murmured reassurance she felt him relax again and move to trail his lips between her breasts and down over her own stomach. Clara tensed as his hands came to lay over her hips, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her pyjamas. He pressed a kiss through the material at a sensitive point and she felt herself buck against his mouth, moisture seeping through the fabric. He breathed hotly through the material and she shivered again before lifting her pelvis to allow him to drag away the last of her clothing.

The Doctor had thrown back the covers of the bed but in the dark she didn't feel at all exposed but rather liberated by the shadows. She was aware still of his silhouette bending over her and moving from side to side between her legs to sprinkle kisses across her inner thighs, of his hands holding her in place as he adjusted his position and bent further. Clara's body thrummed with the anticipation of that ultimate touch as he slowly, achingly slowly, tasted her skin. She shifted best she could to encourage him to the spot she needed and felt him smile against her knowingly, holding off her request for a minute longer. Finally under a combination of his feather kisses and fingertip touches she couldn't hold out any longer.

'Doctor, please,' she whispered, her tone all but begging him. He smiled again but this time he didn't delay and responded to her plea with a firm slip of his tongue against the spot which was aching for his touch. Clara bucked and called out immediately, her hands grasping for the sheets around her as he set about a steady rhythm measured to her response. Her breath came hard and fast and if the room was not already in darkness she was sure her vision would be speckled with black spots. Hands tingling it felt as though all the heat in her body had been driven to between her legs, her muscles spasming, she could feel herself rising through a plateau of pleasure, just a few more seconds and…

'Doctor, wait!' she cried out, her body conflicted. 'Wait, stop!'

He almost didn't but the urgency of her tone caught him, 'Clara?'

She had hold of his arms and pulled with all her strength until he was level with her, looking down over her heated face, her hair splayed out over the pillow and her breath coming raggedly. He was about to ask what was wrong when he felt her hands drop to his belt and quickly unfasten him. He groaned involuntarily as her movements caught his trapped erection and she worked to undo his trousers pushing them over his hips, forcing him to shift until they were gone. He jerked as she wrapped one hand around him, her thumb flicking over the tip of him and releasing another moan from his lips. Then she reached up and kissed him deeply before positioning him at her centre, her legs wide for him. She ground upwards with her hips.

'Doctor,' she breathed between kisses, 'Please…'

He was aching and her proximity was maddening. The heat of her body battered against him in waves, the scent of her, a heavy musk that intoxicated him. He could taste her still on his lips, a soft almost sweet flavour that sent a thrill through his body. He couldn't delay the inevitable any long and with a smooth movement pushed inside her while her muscles clamped around him tight and hot. Clara's nails dug into him immediately and her face broke into a smile as she allowed herself to be surrounded by him completely. Her head tipped back into the pillows and she closed her eyes aware of him moving above her, setting the rhythm and pace, allowing her to float freely on her pleasure. One of her hands fell away from his shoulder and on the sheet by her side only to be moments later grasped by him, intertwining their fingers in a gesture oddly more intimate than what they had been sharing. Clara opened her eyes and looked first at her hand and then up at the Doctor, and though the shadows still obscured most of his face her vision had accommodated enough to the dark to see his eyes. He was watching her with a steady open gaze that made her catch her breath, suddenly realising the feeling she had been trying to place. Before she could name it he had caught her mouth in a final kiss and she was calling out against him, their bodies in absolute union.

XXXXXXXX

In the hours that passed he watched her sleep, curled against him, her skin warm and still damp in places, her breath even and calm as it spilled over his chest. He was in no rush to move and shatter the moment, instead choosing to hold her there, her cheek pressed against one heart, her hand resting over the other. He looked past her out the window to the sky beyond and saw the last of night fading with the stars. How often he had travelled those stars, how many of them he had seen first-hand, how many were gone, their light only now reaching Clara's little planet though the suns themselves had died.

Time passed and her sleep became deeper. He wondered what she dreamed of but was relieved to see the smile at the edges of her lips. No more nightmares he hoped, he hoped for both of them. The moon dipped beyond the horizon and night changed back into day and with it came the earth's own star. An amber light cast its rays over Clara's face and she seemed to glow as she lay there in his arms, arms which too caught the early sun so that they shone together. How had he ever thought he could live without her there, how could he ever have been so foolish? He had tried to leave her behind, for her sake he'd said, but perhaps really because he feared the reality. That he loved her utterly and that one day, like the stars her light would fade and he would be left only with the memory. But it was worth it, wasn't it, to hold her there, to feel that sense of peace? The Doctor watched as the rising sun shone golden orange through the window, like the harvest skies of Gallifrey. He was home.


End file.
